


Knock Down

by StarsGarters



Series: Knock Out [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Boot Worship, Domme Maria Hill, F/M, HYDRA Trash Party, Hand Feeding, Lipstick, Man panties, Masturbation, Pegging, Pre-Movie(s), Situational Humiliation, alexander pierce ruins everything, assplay prep, submissive Brock Rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3417743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock Rumlow discovers a deep desire to be put in his place. Agent Maria Hill is happy to oblige. This is set prior to any of the MCU movies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Huh. Good thing you’ve got your looks to fall back on sweetheart.” The pat of her hand on Brock's stubbled face felt more humiliating than if Maria Hill had spat in his face. She looked down at him and smirked. Then she stood up and walked off the mat as if he weren't worth her time anymore. And he _wasn't_.

She'd dropped him on his ass so fast, he still hadn't quite processed it. He curled onto his side, hiding the erection in his sweatpants from the onlookers. He waited until most of them had gone back to their workouts and his cock had behaved itself, then rolled off the mat onto his feet. 

What the hell was wrong with him? He'd been knocked on his ass hundreds of times, well never quite as fast as that. He hopped in the shower and turned it all the way cold. He didn't deserve a hot shower after a performance like that.

Guess she wasn't just a pretty pencil pusher after all. Made sense why Rollins had goaded him to challenge her now, he should have known better. That fucker was going to eat his own teeth if he razzed Rumlow about it. 

His cock stirred despite the cold water. Goddamn it. What the hell was wrong with him? He got dressed quickly and felt like he needed to do laps around the track just to distract himself from his defeat. Brock ducked out the back exit and froze. Hill was there, loading her duffel into the trunk of her car. Maybe she wouldn't see him. Maybe she wouldn't say a thing. Brock couldn't help thinking that if she ignored him, it would be worse than her outright contempt, so he tried to slink back into the doorway.

"Hiding? Really?" Hill pointed at the mirror on the side of her car and slammed the trunk lid shut. "I knew you're an asshole Rumlow, but I didn't think you were a _chicken_ too."

Her chiding insult stiffened his spine and he strode out into the lot. "I just didn't want to make this awkward. But looks like you took care of _that_ , Hill." He flushed like a teenager under her steady gaze. "So, whatever. You know. Okay then. Bye." He clutched his dirty gym clothes bag like a talisman and walked off as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. He couldn't run very far in his condition anyway, his stupid body was still trying to fuck him over. Rumlow tried to think about dead puppies and Westfahl's disgusting locker. 

He couldn't shake the thought that she was watching him retreat. And she was probably smiling.  _Bitch._

Brock fumbled with his keys in the lock of his apartment and cursed at his shaking fingers. He leaned against the door, in the quiet of his home and dropped his duffel on the floor with a thud.

She thought he was a _coward_. She thought he wasn't worth her time. Why the hell did it matter so much to him?

He panted roughly and gave into his body's demands. His cock hadn't been so hard since...  _forever._ He wrapped his fingers around himself and fucked into his fist, the dry friction felt like penance for an unnamed sin. He closed his eyes and thought about Hill straddling him, pinning him to the mat with her thighs.  _“Huh. Good thing you’ve got your looks to fall back on sweetheart.”_  Her voice was like warm velvet in his head. He came, his knees weak and wobbly from the intensity of his orgasm. 

He looked at the sticky wet mess on his hand, spattering his shirt. She was right.

He really _was_ pathetic. 

 

  

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Five am. What an ungodly hour. Brock blearily blinked and hoped that his coffee would kick in soon. He stretched and began working on the speed bag. She wasn't here.

What was he _doing_?

Brock had asked around to find out when Hill trained in the gym, subtly he thought, but Agent Mercer had rolled her eyes at him. "For that info, I'll require you to take over my next paperwork shift and," she tapped her chin thoughtfully, "I need help staining my deck this weekend." 

"That's-- ridiculous. That's just mercenary!" Brock protested. 

"Mercenary doesn't begin to cover it, sweetheart, " she cooed, "You wanna know or not?"

He flipped her off and walked away, taking about five steps before turning on his heel and stalking back. "You have to buy lunch and beer for the deck thing." He held out his hand. 

"Deal." Mercer smiled at Brock sweetly, but he wasn't fooled. He'd been her CO long enough to know that he could trust her with his life, but his dignity was another whole matter. She shook his hand and leaned in to whisper, "Five am. That way she gets the gym to herself and doesn't have to share with meatheads. You wouldn't know any meatheads that need to be avoided, do you Sir? Men that bite off a little more than they could chew, perhaps?" Her smile widened into a vulpine smirk. It looked a lot like the one she wore when she was sniping enemy combatants, never showing her teeth, never giving away her position.  

"Heard about that did you?" Rumlow sniffed and crossed his arms, he looked at her evenly.  

"Everyone heard about that, sir. The phrase Rollins used was  _legendary beatdown_. _"_

"Well, they're right. I ate rubber mat for breakfast. So I'm looking for a rematch." Just that. He was only looking to regain his pride, save a little face. He wasn't thinking about trying to impress Hill. Not in that way. Nah. _Never_.

"Your funeral. Make sure someone tapes the rematch though, I bet that shit would go viral, sir." She laughed, "Remember, deck staining Saturday."

"Just don't forget the food and beer." He'd have helped her out regardless, if she'd asked. He was always getting roped into moving apartments and letting teammates sleep on his couch after fighting with their spouse. Stupid little things like that. He was a good CO, a real _nice_ guy. He had to keep his nose clean and watch out for his team, Secretary Pierce didn't tolerate sloppiness. Not with the future of the world at stake. 

That was _it_. He was _sloppy_ with Hill. She wasn't one of theirs, but that didn't seem to matter to his dick. He shook his head at his own stupidity. He caught his breath, put his hand on his hips and tried to center his mind. 

"Back for a rematch?" Hill's voice echoed in the stillness of the gym. Brock hadn't heard her come in, lost in his thoughts. He swallowed hard and turned to face her. She was dressed the same as he was, standard SHIELD issue, but damn if it didn't look 110% better on her. He felt the flush creep up his face and cursed himself.

"Yes. I mean, no. I mean, _goddamn it_ Hill." He chewed on his lip as she stepped on the mat. 

"It's either _yes_ or _no_. Make up your mind, I've got training to do." Hill stretched her shoulder and waited, staring at him. He felt as if she was taking stock of him, evaluating whether or not to take him seriously. 

"Yes. _Okay_. Yes." The stutter of his voice wasn't making a good impression, so he joined her on the mat bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

"May I have this dance?" She chirped, then she lunged at him. He countered her advance and reached for her, but she wasn't there-- 

The back of his head smacked the rubber and he was flat on his back _again._ He swallowed and prayed that she wouldn't notice his erection. Next time, if there was a next time, he was wearing a jock _and_ compression shorts. "How?" He breathed incredulously, "How do you do that?" The wonder in his voice was palpable. 

Hill loomed over him. "I _focus_. You're all scattered. You only focus when you're on a mission. Otherwise, you're just a sloppy asshole barely remembering to pay the rent. Am I right?" Her words were harsh and he flinched. "I think you got promoted to STRIKE leader because Pierce likes you. Does he think you're a pretty pencil pusher, darling?"  

"You're fucking kidding me. You know what I do Hill, you've got the clearance to read my file." He got on his feet and crouched down, watching her. He wasn't making the first move this time. 

"Seems like boring reading. You're an open book." She yawned. Oh you _bitch_. 

He lashed out, "Oh yeah? Fucking read this, Hill! What do you see?" He swung his arm, was easily blocked and somehow wound up face-first on the navy blue rubber mat with Hill's knee in the small of his back. It was like he'd forgotten everything he ever learned about fighting, she was taking him apart piece by piece. His arms were twisted behind his back, it reminded him of high school wrestling when he was stupid enough to ask the coach _what's a Full Nelson_? 

"I see someone who needs to learn discipline, you'd think at your age you'd have picked that up." He wasn't _that_ old, but the dig made him squirm and the squirming only made the pain worse. It was better to concentrate on the feeling of nearly having his arms dislocated than her weight pressing his cock in to the mat beneath him. 

"So are you offering to teach me? Gonna put me in my place?" The flippant tone in his voice barely hid a quaver. It felt awful to be humiliated like this, but he was so fucking  _hard_ that it hurt. She laughed and he felt the shift of her weight as she laid on top of him. His breath hissed out between his teeth. 

"Sure. I can do that. But first, we're going to spar until you quit french-kissing the mat. Unless you like the taste of sweaty rubber. Do you? I understand it's an acquired taste." 

"Bring it!" He yowled and tried to not grind his cock into the mat. She pressed down with her pelvis, pushing him down into the firm rubber. A traitorous groan escaped his lips, betraying his weakness. 

Her voice was right in his ear, he felt her hot breath against his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut. "You're so stubborn, Brock. That's good. _Really_ good. It would be fun to break you of that stubborn streak."

"Break me?" Damned if that didn't sound like a slice of Heaven with a chaser of Hell. "Whatcha gonna do? Make me lick your boots? Fluffy handcuffs--?" He tried to chuckle but his voice cut off in a strangled whine as Hill pumped her hips until he bit his lip. 

"That's amateur hour, _sweetheart_. I've seen the way you look at me. Tell me, Brock, did you wait until you got home to jerk off or did you make a mess in your car? Are you hard now?" She didn't whisper or leer. Had he been so obvious?

"Jesus, Hill!" He gasped and his mouth tasted like copper, he swallowed hard. 

" _Tell_ _me_ or _tap_ _out_." If he tapped out, it was all over.

He didn't want it to be over. He wanted her. He wanted to prove himself to her. He wasn't sloppy, he wasn't a waste of time. He had worth and he would do fucking anything to make everyone know that. But, _especially_ Maria Hill. 

"I-- waited. Until I got home! Jesus--yes. So fucking hard! " He panted and was surprised when she released one of his arms, shifted her hold until his hips were no longer flat against the mat. She was still very much in control, her legs interlaced with his. 

"So reach down there and take care of it. I'll wait." She pushed hard at his shoulder and he winced at the sharp stab, "But not very long. I'm patient Brock, but not  _that_ patient. That's an order." 

Brock didn't hesitate and awkwardly slid his hand down his shorts, grabbing himself. She smelled like sweat and sweet soap, her body pressed against his. He was _hers_ at that moment and he wasn't going to disobey. A few quick strokes with his hand made him shudder and groan. The sweetness of his release mixed with the pain of her submission hold was heady. The lights of the gym flickered in his gaze and Hill let go of his arm, untangled their legs and stood up. Brock stayed on the mat, breathing hard and flushed red with a sticky mess in his shorts. 

"Huh. So you _can_ take an order. I was beginning to wonder. Tell me pretty boy, do you want to  _spar_ outside of the gym?" She crouched down beside him and trailed her fingertips through his wet hair, drawing a lazy curve in the sweat beaded on his forehead.

"You hittin' on me, Hill?" His weak bravado amused her and she smiled when he nodded, "Yeah--, yeah I think I can handle that. I think I _really_ want to."

"Good boy." Hill patted his stubbled face. "I'll make sure to bring the fluffy handcuffs since you mentioned them, sweet thing." She stood up, stretched her arms and walked off to the showers, swinging her hips. "They're pink and darling, just like _you_."

Brock watched her every step of the way, then wiped his hand off on his shorts with a grimace. He flopped on his back and looked at the ceiling while assessing his aching body. Ibuprofen, ice packs and the whirlpool bath were in his immediate future if he wanted to walk tomorrow. Sex shouldn't require first aid afterwards, at least, it never had before. He wiped his bloody lip off with the back of his jizz-scented hand and grinned. 

He was such a mess. But Hill thought he was worth her time and that was so worth it. He couldn't wait for the next sparring match, even if she had threatened him with fluffy cuffs. He smirked confidently.

He could handle this. _No_ _problemo_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend that no one has attended a sexual harassment seminar at SHIELD. *cough*


	3. Chapter 3

The rat-infested prison cell in Serbia. Cleaning diesel crud out of flooded bilges in his submarine. Oh yeah, that time his fucking parachute jammed and he was plummeting down 8,000 feet above the Earth. All of those were possibly worse than sitting in front of Secretary Alexander Pierce, but not by much. Not by much.

"Commander Rumlow," Pierce tapped his neatly manicured fingers on his desk. They were meeting in Pierce's non-official office, the one where he worked when he wasn't pretending to be fully invested in the office of Secretary of Defense. Rumlow thought it might be easier to face Pierce if you didn't know who he really was, what was hiding behind that jovial smile. A mind as sharp and sleek as a shiv. You were twice as likely to literally spill your guts if you weren't careful, obedient and respectful. 

"Please, sit." Rumlow took the folding chair in front of the desk, posture still ramrod straight and attentive. "At ease, at ease." It was a Herculean effort to force himself to relax his back, but if there was one thing Rumlow did well, it was following the orders of a superior. Everything about Pierce made Rumlow want to bow his head and slump his shoulders, all that power and authority, but he forced himself to meet Pierce's cold blue eyes.  

"I bet you're wondering why I've asked you to meet me here." Pierce leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.  

 _No shit._ "Yes, sir." Rumlow dug his fingers into his thighs and tried to suppress the string of random panicked thoughts that were running through his brain. What had he done wrong? What had he done well? What had he forgotten to do? 

"Well, it has come to my attention that you are involved in a potentially problematic relationship." Pierce tapped a few keys on his tablet and scoffed gently under his breath at the bewildered look on Rumlow's face. "With Agent Hill, Commander."

Rumlow's eyes widened and he sputtered, "We're-- I'm not in a relationship with her, sir." 

Pierce laughed as if he were a silly child. "No, that's incorrect. You're not in a relationship with her, _yet_." Pierce pushed up his glasses and smiled in a way that could have been interpreted as kindly, but made the hairs rise on the back of Rumlow's neck. 

His mouth was dry, but he said, "Sir, sorry, but I'm confused." 

Pierce pressed play on his tablet and Rumlow went pale at the sight of his first encounter with Agent Hill playing on the desktop screen. Pierce chuckled as Hill soundly trounced him. It was so much worse to watch the recording, reliving the defeat in front of his superior. "She took you down fast and hard, didn't she?" Pierce rewound it and pressed play again, " _Man_ , that had to hurt. Did your head bounce off the mat?" Another encore. "Yes, yes it did." Rumlow felt his face burn red from Pierce's obvious amusement. Of course, everything in the gym was recorded. 

_OH SHIT._

Pierce's smile changed from kindly to predatory with far too many white veneered teeth glinting. "Now a friendly sparring match is one thing, but this," He tapped another button. "This is something else entirely."

Rumlow watched in horror as Pierce played the second sparring match. He prayed that Pierce would stop the tape before he had to watch himself jerk off on Hill's order, but Pierce didn't believe in pesky things like  _mercy_. 

"People in our organization should have no expectations of silly things like privacy." Pierce rewound and watched Rumlow wince at the fucked out bliss on his face pinned beneath Hill. "You belong to the organization, don't you Commander?" Pierce asked this question blandly as the clip of Rumlow's humiliating masturbation looped over and over again, but Rumlow snapped to attention. You didn't hesitate to answer that question.

"Sir, yes sir!" He would have saluted with both fists, but he knew Pierce frowned on that pageantry. Rumlow set his jaw. He was a STRIKE Commander with more kills under his belt than he could count. He could fly every bird at SHIELD and operate most of the weapon systems. He was more than a pretty face.

Pierce snorted, as if he could read the thoughts in Rumlow's head.  "The truth is that we've been trying to infiltrate Fury's inner circle for years. We'd pretty much given up hope of getting inside Agent Hill's head. She doesn't date, doesn't sleep around, hell, I'd call her more married to her work than _I_ am. But now, there's this..." He took a moment to watch the loop again, then punched up the volume. 

Rumlow could hear himself moaning like a cheap slut. Pierce smiled.

"You're the first person she's taken an interest in a very long time. So what are your intentions towards Agent Maria Hill? Showboating? Looking to get your dick wet?" Casual crudeness dripped from Pierce's lips. "A little fuck, suck and run?"

"I--I hadn't thought about it, much." Rumlow looked at the wall directly behind Pierce's head. 

"You're a terrible liar, Commander. I bet you've thought about _that_ ," he pointed at the way Hill ran her fingers through Rumlow's hair with a smile. " _Constantly_. Every night before you go to sleep, probably when you wake up in the morning and at least once before lunch." Pierce wasn't wrong. 

Rumlow chewed on his lower lip and felt the shameful burn in his cheeks. "My intentions are whatever you want them to be." He added belatedly. "Sir." He gripped the tops of his thighs tightly enough to bruise. 

Pierce nodded, it was the correct response. The only correct response. "I only want you to follow orders. _Her_ orders. And report back to me what you learn, what you hear. Even the most stoic agents like a little pillow-talk. Worm your way into her good graces, make yourself the first thing she thinks about when she wakes up." Rumlow's slutty groans echoed in the stillness of the office. "But always remember, your loyalty belongs to the organization, not to Maria Hill."

"Sir, yes sir!" Rumlow answered. 

Pierce leaned back in his chair again, "You may go, Commander." He waved Rumlow off with a vague gesture of dismissal. But he didn't turn off the video. Rumlow was flushed red to his ears, but grateful to still be breathing. He hadn't intended any of this, now he had a mission. No one turned down a mission from Alexander Pierce.

As he exited the door, Rumlow could have sworn that he heard Pierce laugh and say under his breath, " _Fluffy handcuffs_. How _sweet_."

 


	4. Chapter 4

After the scared-shitless feeling passed, resentful anger lingered. Brock slammed the door to his locker and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. A mission. He should have known. Once you joined the organization, you didn't belong to yourself anymore. Nothing you did, owned or stood for was yours alone. He knew that signing up, but why did it sting so much now? They were going to change the world, he had to believe that. He'd _never_ choose the wrong side. 

"Something eating you?" Mercer asked as she tied her hair back. "Hill mopped the floor with you again, didn't she." She pointed at a bruise on his neck.

Rumlow nodded, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. Mercer noticed and said, "Damn sir, usually you aren't so happy about getting beat up. Oh, you've got a _thing_ for her. Don't you? Does she like you back?" 

He mutely shrugged and looked at the remains of mahogany deck stain under his fingernails. Mercer clapped him on the shoulder. " _Damn_. And all you had to do was be an asshole. Right?" 

Rumlow rolled his eyes and wearily replied. "Right. It's my middle name."

"Brock Asshole Rumlow. No wonder they don't put our middle names on the security badges. So, are you going to call her?"

I fucking have to now. It's not even my choice. "Maybe. I don't know." 

"Gonna take her out to dinner? Go feed some ducks? Something sappy like that?" She leaned against the lockers and crossed her arms.

"I don't think she's the sappy type. I thought I'd text her and let her make the plans, you know? So I don't fuck it up." Brock smiled hopefully. Mission or not, he was keen on making this work.

"Good call." Mercer nodded sagely, then she leaned in close and confided, "She likes very dark single origin chocolate bars and smoked tea from that shop on 3rd. Her favorite flowers are orchids." She looked very pleased with herself.

Brock jotted the information down in his phone, then asked, "Why are you telling me this?" 

"Because I like you." She blinked innocently, but he wasn't fooled.

"That's bullshit, Mercer." 

Her neat white teeth flashed as she smiled. "Fiiiine. Guilty as charged. There's a list that gets passed around HR for birthdays. You're not the type to get anyone in the office a gift on their birthday, are you? So I just thought you needed all the help you could get with recon. And you never know, I might need someone to help clean out my rain gutters. Home maintenance is a right bitch, sometimes I wish I still rented." 

He laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. "You're alright Mercer."

She rolled her eyes at his faint praise. "I'm fucking _priceless_ and don't you forget it."

\--

 _Meet me at my place. 6pm._  Rumlow looked at the address and at his watch. He could make it in time even with the rain. He covered his small gift of expensive chocolate with his coat and tried to avoid crumpling the tasteful packaging. 

He rang the doorbell. Hill's place was on the second to last floor. She opened the door, but didn't invite him in. "Hey." She looked different in her civvies, a soft thin camel-colored sweater and a brown skirt that swished against her legs. Different, but good. Her feet were bare on the carpet. Her toenails were painted deep blue.

Brock swallowed and smiled. "Hey. So I, um, I heard you like chocolate?" He offered her the small parcel and she took it, running her fingers over the gilt lettering and satin ribbon. 

Her eyebrow arched. "My favorite. Are you researching me, Brock?" She still made no move to let him in. He put his hands in his pockets and stifled the urge to fidget nervously. 

"I might have asked around." She nodded and he ventured, "Can I come in? I mean, it's a nice hallway, _but_?" He shrugged disarmingly and looked at her through his eyelashes.  _This isn't a mission, this is for me._   _  
_

She leaned against the doorframe and said, "Yeah, but before I let you in, we're going to get something straight. I'm not looking to  _date_ you, Brock." Hill straightened the bow on the parcel and Brock felt confused. He licked his lips.

" _Oh_. Um, okay? I guess I won't be taking you home to meet my parents then?" He tried to cover up his confusion with bravado. 

Hill made a vague gesture with her hand. "Your mother is dead and your father isn't... _around_." _Close_. He didn't know who his father was actually. Hopefully he'd never need an organ transplant.  

He ran his hand through his rain-dampened hair. "Ah, now you're researching me. Isn't that cheating? I thought we'd pour a glass of wine and slowly confess this shit to each other until the bottle was empty." 

She snorted, "Yet, you didn't bring any wine. I always read up on the people I invite to my home. Especially the mouthy ones." Her appraising gaze made him grateful that he had dressed up for the occasion. 

" _Mouthy_? I'm not mouthy. I'm wounded here. Come on Hill, you didn't call me over just to talk to me about my pedigree." One hundred percent purebred mutt, but he did his best to give her puppy dog eyes.

"Nope. But if you come in here, you're going to have to agree to my rules. Number one, I make the rules. Number two, you're going to pick a safe word so you can tap out if things get too intense for you. Number three, refer back to number one." She held up appropriate fingers and waited for his response.

Well, he was wasn't going to walk away before Pierce had held his fat to the fryer and quitting wasn't an option. "Too intense huh? Promises, promises." He chuckled, "Okay, I'm up for a challenge. I wouldn't have come back for round two if I was a quitter.  _Butterscotch_." She raised her eyebrow in question. "My favorite pudding flavor, of course. Instant, not the cooked kind. I'm very particular about my pudding. Bet that wasn't in my dossier."

"No. No, it wasn't." She stepped to the side. "Welcome."

He nodded his thanks and walked in. "This is nice, Hill, if you want to live in a catalog photoshoot." 

"I can scatter a few beer cans on the floor if you're homesick for the trailer park. Take off your shoes and socks." 

Brock obliged and wriggled his toes in the plush carpet pile. "Nah, just tell me I'm a worthless sack of shit every fifteen minutes or so and I'm good." There was a giant window that made up one of the walls of her living room. He could see most of the city and the low heavy clouds that wound between the buildings like grey blankets. 

"So the Navy was an escape then." Maria poured a glass of water and offered him one. He shook his head and squinted out the window, looking for sniper vantage points. Just because you weren't in the field, didn't mean that you didn't stop scoping the environment.  

"Yep. They still told me I was a worthless sack of shit, but only when I deserved it. That's a step up, you know. Hell of a nice view." 

She replied, "I was thinking the same thing." 

He turned towards her and pointed at his own face. "This old thing?" She nodded and he grinned. Maybe he wasn't as bad at this as he'd feared. 

"You should take it all off." She leaned against the counter and took a sip of her water. 

He loosened his tie. "Is that an order or a suggestion, ma'am?" Stripping down in front of the window? Fine, he wasn't shy.

"It is and you better do it quickly, unless you're looking forward to more of the slap than the tickle." His cock instantly responded to the suggestion. Damn, he was  _easy_. 

He took off his tie, set it on the arm of her warm beige couch and unbuttoned his shirt. He tried to make it seductive, but still managed to catch his foot on his slacks and ended up hopping ungracefully. Soon he was nude in her living room right in front of the picture window. He assumed parade stance out of pure habit and defiantly tilted his chin at her. " _There_. Like what you see?" He worked hard to stay fit, it was his job to be at peak endurance and physical capacity. These muscles weren't just for show. 

Hill slowly walked around him, surveying his skin. Her fingertips grazed the skin at the base of his neck, "You're a roadmap of scars." She touched a nasty red gash upon the small of his back. "This one. What happened?" 

"Oh that's a gift from a Serbian prison guard named Serge. Somehow he got the room service menu all mixed up and I got that instead of my mimosa." Brock smiled to himself at the memory of what he had done to that bastard with just a switchblade and some imagination. No children for Serge. No blinking or solid foods either. 

She touched his shoulder. "Caught a bullet in Montenegro." His bicep, spidery suture scars. "Shrapnel, didn't move fast enough. Bagdad." The back of his knee, a series of small round scars. "Cigarette. Aunt Agnes. Pissed her off during her soaps. Same. Stole her moonshine to sell to my friends. I think I might have disrespected her favorite cat." 

Hill shook her head, "You're full of such lovely anecdotes, Brock."  

"Open book, Hill. Open book. I've got nothing to hide." If he said that often enough, then it might start to sound like the truth. 

"Did you tell your buddies about our encounter on the mat? Did you share those intimate details?" She smelled like jasmine and her breath was hot on the side of his neck. She stood behind him.

"Um, no." He looked at his feet and curled his toes in the carpet. 

"Why not? Are you ashamed?" Her fingernails scraped down his chest, lingering over more scars. Her touch was electric and traveled straight to his crotch. 

"I'm-- not ashamed of any--thing." He wanted his voice to be firm, but he wavered when she curled her fingers about the base of his cock and he gasped. 

"Look at how _hard_ you are. Oh, there's the blush that I remember from the mat."

"You're grabbing my junk, Hill. That's really difficult to ignore. And um, I--" Brock stammered, Hill was pressing her sweater-clad breasts against his hot bare skin and the knit was so soft. 

"Go on." Her grip was insistent and firm to the point of discomfort. She wasn't touching him to make  _him_ feel good, she was grabbing him to make a point of who was in control. And she was undeniably in control. 

The truth came sputtering out of him in a rush of confession. "I like that you can take me down. Not a lot of people can do that. That's really fucking hot."

Hill laughed and released him, running her hand up his flank. "I wasn't planning to put you in a leg lock today, Brock. What if I just tell you to get on your knees?"  

A spark of defiance flared up in Brock's gut and he caught his breath, then sneered. "What if you make me?" That was a mistake.

Hill struck at the back of his knees and in a heartbeat, he was on the carpet. " _Down_ _boy_." It was infinitely more humbling to be crawling on the floor in front of Hill than standing. "Now look at me." Brock craned his neck up and watched her walk around him. "Good. Hands flat on the floor. Ass in the air. Eyes front!" She made an appreciative clucking sound with her tongue.

"Should I bark now?" The sassy remark slipped out of his lips and he yelped when she reached between his legs to tug on his scrotum. If she did that again, he was going to make a mess on her carpet. 

"I didn't say you could talk right now." Hill picked up his gift and untied the ribbon. She sat on the couch and Brock heard the rustle of packing paper, the snap of the chocolate bar. "Mmm. Sumatran. You really did do your research. Open your mouth." Brock obeyed and Hill put a square of bitter, bitter chocolate on his tongue. 

"No. _No_." The flat of her palm cracked on his ass. "Don't just chew and swallow. Let it melt on your tongue, savor the flavors. Close your eyes." Brock did as she ordered, his ass cheek burning as red as his face. She painted melted chocolate on his mouth like lip gloss and then plopped it on his tongue again. The bitter chocolate melted in his mouth, soon he could taste notes of coffee and cinnamon, a more complex flavor than he had first noticed. He took a deep breath and swallowed. Chocolate was still on his lips, but she hadn't told him to lick them, yet. 

"Open them." Brock looked up at Maria who had more silently than he thought possible changed into a pair of shiny pointed toe black boots with impossibly high heels. She stalked around him and nudged him into a more pleasing posture with the toe of her boot. Brock's mouth was watering and not from the aftertaste of the chocolate. 

"Jesus--!" The exclamation escaped without a thought and he winced at the slap on his other ass cheek. 

"More with the talking without permission, I thought I'd covered that. Are you not a good listener, sweetheart?" Hill crossed her arms and extended her booted foot in front of his face. "You were so keen on the idea back on the mat. Go on. Give it a kiss." Brock planted his lips on the top of her boot, leaving a chocolaty smear there. Maria shook her head.

"Oh you've made a mess of the polish, looks like you'll have to clean it up." Brock looked up at her and sighed a deep shuddery sigh as he licked the smear from her boot. His head felt fogged and his heart beat loudly in his ears. His dick was red and aching, strings of pre-cum oozing from the slit.

"There you go sweetheart. You've got such pretty lips when they aren't flapping. Eager tongue." Her praise made him lick more eagerly, he didn't protest when she presented the other boot for the same treatment. He was panting in spite of himself and the guttural noise he made when she ran her fingernails down his spine was more animal than human. 

"Beautiful." Her words thrilled in the pit of his gut and she picked up his boxer briefs from the couch, tossed them at him. "Go on, make yourself cum on that."

She didn't say that he had to stop worshiping her boots, so he didn't. Slavering like the bad dog he was, Rumlow fisted his cock while slurping at the toe of her boot. It was humiliating. It was intoxicating. He did his best to aim at his underwear, she wouldn't want him back if he made a mess of her carpet. He clung to her leg and gasped through his orgasm, the scent of the leather and his spit pungent in his nose. He collapsed on the carpet, his underwear tangled around his cock, nearly weeping with joy. 

Hill knelt on the carpet beside him and patted her lap, Brock laid his head upon her thighs. "Shh." She stroked his head, ran her fingers through his sweat-damp hair. "You're such a good boy. Such a good boy. So pretty. So brave." She cooed praise with a softer tone than he'd ever heard before. That praise was for him, only for him. "Open your mouth." She fed him another square of chocolate and then ate one herself. They stayed like that for a while until his breathing returned to normal and Hill went to get him a warm washcloth. 

Brock looked out the window that he had been performing in front of and a glint caught his eye.  _Fucking amateurs._ They had let the sun catch the lens of the scope. He crossed his arms and stared at the glint of light. He slowly pointed at the light and then back at his own eyes.  _You've been made, assholes._ Then he flipped them off for good measure. 

 _He was such a fucking mess, but at least_ he _was a professional._   

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are so gratefully appreciated! *chews on fingernails*


	5. Chapter 5

His hair was clean and damp, cheeks flushed red with anticipation and from six rounds of sparring. He spritzed some breath spray in his mouth and made sure nothing was in his teeth. Then Brock opened the glove compartment of his car and took out a small bag of special Lapsang tea. He had squirreled it away just in case Maria asked him back for an encore. Never hurt to consider all the angles. Piss poor planning was your damn own fault. 

He rang the buzzer and when Maria opened the door, he offered the package to her with both hands like the tea clerk had done. She smiled and looked him up and down. "Well, thank you."

He leaned against the doorframe and said, "You're welcome." He licked his lips, "So, um, where do we go from here?"

Maria ran her fingers over the embossed emblem on the bag, she asked almost offhandedly, "What's your safe word, tough guy?"

" _Butterscotch_." At that word, Maria reached over and pulled him into her apartment by his t-shirt. He eagerly followed her and she sat down on her couch. "Bare feet please. Mind the carpet."  Her toenails were a pale pink. He had hoped that she would wear the boots again. _Damn._

"See, that's why I have  _hardwood_ floors..." Brock slipped his trainers off and put them by the door. What did he do now? Sit on the couch? No. He was just going to wait for orders, like a good little soldier. Someone better than him giving him motivation to live. Sometimes that was the only thing that got him up in the morning, the obligation of being STRIKE leader. The organization understood that much better than SHIELD did. 

"At attention!" Brock snapped into stance, facing the picture windows. "Why are you dressed so casually? Don't think you have to make an effort any more?" Disapproval dripped from her voice. Brock lifted his chin and huffed out a little sigh.

"Came straight from the gym, I wasn't expecting your text. I was pretty deep into kicking Rollins' ass six ways to Saturday, but I had to forfeit when you called." Rollins deserved it for putting the idea in Brock's head to fuck with Maria at the gym. Brock's life would be so much simpler if he hadn't. Simpler, he thought, but not nearly as pleasurable. He was jacking off like a teenager just from the memory of his encounters with her. 

"So you dropped everything and came here?"

"Well, I showered--" Brock smiled with all of his teeth. Why didn't she buy any curtains or blinds? He squinted into the darkness. They were back lit, fucking easy targets. Should he have asked her to move to another room? Nah, that would've just made her ask more questions because he certainly hadn't been concerned with modesty before. Who was his tail? Did he know them? Did they get off on watching him grovel on the carpet, jerking it while he put on a show? 

 _Fuck it_. He'd make them pay later. He had a mission and he was going to complete it. And _enjoy_ it.

Maria rolled her eyes, "Thank you for such _small_ courtesies." 

He couldn't help it, he smirked and shrugged. "I mean, it would be rude of me to ignore an urgent order from my superior officer. Unheard of. Grounds for immediate punishment for insubordination." _Please punish me._

"I'm not your CO, Brock." She stood up and circled him, her hand in the pockets of her sweater dress.

Brock watched the knit pull taut over her curves, hunger in his eyes. "I-- know that. But," The words came out of him as a confession, as a prayer, "You are so, so fucking _far_ above me." The smile that curled her lips made his mouth dry. 

She ran one hand down his face, tracing the sharp jut of his cheekbone then trailed down to his mouth. Maria tapped his lower lip and leaned in so close he could feel her breath on his skin. "Hmm. Pretty words from such perfect lips." She stepped away and sat down on the couch, lounging like the queen of the castle. She flipped a hand at him, "Lose the clothes."

He obeyed her without a word of protest. His gym clothes were so much easier to strip out of than his previous outfit. "Over there, by the end table." Brock looked at where she pointed. A red and black paper bag that had the word _Scandalous_  embossed on the side. "Open that package." 

Brock reached inside the tissue paper stuffing and pulled out a bit of sheerest black lace. The fabric was so fine that it caught on the gun calluses on his hand. He held the panties up and looked at Hill through the fabric. " _Nice._ You buy the matching bra too, Hill?" Now wouldn't that be a sight? Did she shave or go all natural? Brock licked his lips at the thought and Maria laughed, a short bark. 

"Those aren't for me, sweetheart." Confusion crinkled his brows and Maria laughed again. "Put them on."

"You're serious?" She nodded at his incredulous question. "You want me to wear panties? Really?" No way. Just no way. He rubbed the lacy fabric between his fingers. He'd look ridiculous, utterly a fool.

Maria's voice was soft and smooth, she spoke to him like he was a skittish animal. "Look at how silky the fabric is. Don't you deserve lovely things? I bought it just for you." She did, didn't she? He thought about her walking into that store and touching the lingerie until she found just what she wanted for  _him._

He swallowed and protested weakly, unable to take his eyes off the frippery wound about his fingers. "But, I'm-- I'm not like _that_." What was he so worried about? No one would know. He glanced towards the windows.  _Fuck_. Someone was going to know.  _  
_

"Surely, you're secure enough in your own skin to know that you feel good when you follow my requests." _God damn it._ "You crave the order that comes from knowing that I'm making all the hard choices. All you have to do is submit my lovely boy." Rumlow clutched the panties to his chest and looked up at the ceiling, tilting back his head. He could hear his own pulse thundering. "Stop fighting so hard. It's just you and me here and I want to see how beautiful you'll look in my gift."

Rumlow chewed on his lip and bent over, stepped into the panties one foot at a time and looked up at her. "Are they even my size?" She nodded. He pulled the lace up over his legs, slowly, the hair on his legs catching on the sheer fabric. He cupped his scrotum and nestled himself into the crotch of the panties. The tip of his semi-hard cock peeked out from the elastic of the waistband. "I-- I think I need a larger size? Like _really soon._ " He wheezed out, it was hard to catch his breath. 

She beckoned with her finger, "Crawl over here. Slowly." It was almost revolting how fast he dropped to his knees, his fingers and toes flexing in the carpet pile. He crawled over to her, she planted her bare foot on his shoulder and pushed him upright. "How do they feel? Touch yourself."

He ran his hands down his torso and his stomach muscles clenched as he touched the fabric stretched tight over his fully-erect cock. He stammered and squeezed his eyes shut, " So-- so soft. Very soft." It felt too good, he kept his touch light to avoid spilling so soon. How sad would that be, coming just from wearing lingerie? He kept breathing by sheer stubbornness and gritted his teeth.

She touched the tip of his nose and he opened his eyes. "There's another package for you on that chair. Go on." She sat back and watched the curve of his lace-clad ass sway as he crawled towards his goal. In that bag was a gold metal lipstick tube. He pried the cap off the tube awkwardly and screwed up the lipstick.  _Oh fuck me._ The blood red lipstick shown dully, tiny flecks of mica shimmered. He retracted the lipstick and capped it. He looked back at Maria.  _  
_

Hill beckoned again, "Bring it back to me. No hands, Brock." 

 _No hands, huh_? Brock popped the lipstick between his lips, it tasted metallic, like a brass casing from the firing range. He crawled back to her, very conscious of how his erection bobbed and swayed in the tiny lace prison. He looked up at Maria and dropped the lipstick into her waiting palm.

She popped open the case, "Do you know what the proper term is for this? They call it a lipstick _bullet_..." Maria grabbed his stubbled chin, "Hold very still, I want you to be perfect. Can you do that? Can you be my perfect lovely thing?" The lipstick smelled faintly of fruits and flowers and Brock fought the urge to pull back from her firm grip. She released his face and smiled in approval. "I knew those pretty lips were good for something other than sassing me."

Brock looked at the floor, dejected. It was too much for him to contemplate. "I probably look like a clown," He didn't feel perfect or lovely.

"Do you want to see what I see?" Maria pulled out a Polaroid camera from behind the couch cushion.  _Damn. She sure knew how to plan things._ "All these photos will go home with you, because I will _never_ _forget_ how beautiful you look right now." She touched his cheek and looked so  _proud_ of him. Nobody had looked at him like that in ages. Couldn't remember the last time someone had beamed at him like that. He swallowed and felt his cock swell even harder, leaking against his stomach. 

"Okay. Okay. Do it." Maria stood over him and he looked up at her in worship as she pushed the shutter button. The camera whirred and clicked then spat out a square grey photo. "Good boy." She tilted his head and pressed it again. He was on all fours again and she captured the curve of his spine as it sloped into his ass. "Perfect." She manipulated him like a pliant puppet, his head hot and foggy with arousal and faint fading feelings of guilt. 

He was flat on his back with her fingers wound in his hair as tightly as he could bear when she commanded him, "Go on, come for me, pretty boy."

"Oh my fucking god!" he whimpered, the camera flash bright through his eyelids. The sound of the camera immortalizing his hedonistic weakness pushed him over the edge. He fisted his cock through the panties and came with hard, shuddering spurts. His toes dug into the carpet pile as he moaned. 

Maria gathered up the scattered photos and sat on the floor beside Brock. She pulled him close to her and propped him up against her body. She showed him each photo, one by one. "See how lovely you are?" Every photo was examined and declared magnificent. "All scars and muscles wrapped up in a pretty bow. That smirking mouth all rouged up and hungry... Oh, the things I want to do to that mouth." 

It all seemed like _bullshit_. He wasn't anything special. But it felt good to close his eyes and luxuriate in her touch. Maybe next time she'd really hurt him. He could take it.

It was his mission after all. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me this didn't suck. I'm really sick right now and not making the best choices.


	6. Chapter 6

Brock hummed a wordless tune as he selected his ammo for the firing range. His fingers trailed over a rifle cartridge and he picked it up. _Lipstick bullet_ , he thought to himself and smiled. He tapped the bullet on his lower lip and laughed to himself. He wouldn't be able to look at the ammo rack the same way again. 

"I don't think that's your shade." Mercer said from behind him. 

"Oh shove it Mercer." Brock said with no heat in his voice. "You just wish you could look this good."

Mercer laughed and snapped her fingers, "Work it _gurl_." She finished unloading and racking her weapon. "Pierce called for you when you were shooting."

"Fuuuck." Brock mashed his face with his hand and sighed. "Just what I needed to make this a fucking perfect day."

"Maybe we're getting deployed. There's a uprising over by Latveria, you know." Mercer grinned with neat white teeth. "Haven't had any fully-sanctioned fun in ages." She patted her sniper rifle and asked pointedly, "Are you having any fun?"

Brock paused for a moment, then continued to shuck his jacket and armor. "You know I don't go looking for fun, Mercer. _I'm_ the party." He smirked to cover up his nerves. "I'm the fun." 

"The party-favor? Ahh, so she liked the chocolate and the tea then. Good, good. Need any more recon?" He stared at her for a heartbeat and she didn't blink. Was Mercer his tail? _Oh fuck_. Pierce wouldn't do that to him, would he? Her smirk tightened and then she raised her eyebrows in question, "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?"

"I think I have a pretty good idea of what Hill likes now, but thanks." Brock hefted his rucksack over his shoulder and strode to the exit. 

"Oh anytime. _I live to serve_." Mercer called back to him and Brock's cheeks flushed with heat.

_Fuck my life._

_\--_

The pneumatic doors shut behind Brock with a slick hiss. Alexander Pierce looked up from his tablet at Brock and  _smiled_. Brock fully understood the phrase  _his blood ran cold_ at that moment. "Commander. Have a seat." 

Brock sat ram rod straight in the uncomfortable folding chair in front of Pierce's desk. It was so close to desk that his knees brushed against the aluminum. Pierce propped his hand on his chin. "Anything to report, Commander?" He had Pierce's full attention and that blue eyed gaze pinned him to the back of his chair. 

"The team is working well together, accuracy at the range is within normal parameters. No deviations to report that I am aware of, Sir." Brock reported with utter professionalism as his stomach anxiously fluttered and cramped. "Are we being deployed?" 

"No. No." Pierce leaned back in the chair and folded his hands. "Nothing like that. Are you being  _cute_ with me Commander?" His tone was unamused.

"No Sir!" Brock responded in rush. "I have had two... dates with Agent Hill. She does not talk about work, Sir." That was the truth, Maria seemed to exist in two separate realms, SHIELD and off-site. Rumlow didn't seek her out at work, it felt like a violation of their tentative agreement. 

"No pillow talk?" Pierce seemed disappointed, he opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of photos. He fanned them on the desktop like a blackjack dealer. "It looks like you've gotten _quite_ close to me..."  

Brock looked straight past Pierce's ear, unable to make his vision focus on the Polaroids. "She's... not interested in me romantically, Sir." Those pictures were supposed to be locked in his safe-deposit box...

"I think this one is my favorite." Pierce tapped a picture and Brock looked in morbid curiosity. He was sucking on his fingers with smudged red lips, one hand wrapped around his lace-clad cock as he looked up at the camera in utter debauched submission. "She really captured your expression. Have you considered using this on your Christmas cards?" Pierce laughed. 

"No, Sir." Brock felt like he was going to throw up on the spotless floors. "You told me to follow orders. Those were her orders." It felt worse to see those photos on Pierce's desk than to watch himself moan on video. Those were  _his_ photos. She gave them to him, she told him that he was _perfect._ His priceless mementos. 

"Are you sure she's not interested in you? Because," Pierce slid another photo towards him. Maria was holding him possessively in her arms, his body sticky with sweat and orgasm, her face buried in his hair while she looked into the camera. "You might be better at being a honeypot than you give yourself credit for."

Brock swallowed. Pierce had given words to what he secretly hoped might be true. He wanted, more than anything, to belong. To be worthy of her respect, of her praise. It was a foolish hope. She'd shoot him right between the eyes if she knew about his involvement in the organization. "I-- I will try harder, Sir."

"Oh, I bet you will." Pierce gathered up the photos and stacked them neatly. As he was about to put them back in his drawer, Brock hesitantly held up a hand. "Yes Commander?"

"Are those copies or the originals?" Brock's mouth was dry.

"Originals, of course. Due to this process there are no negatives. I suppose we could scan them, but really, that's such a bother." Pierce sighed and waved his hand dismissively. 

"May I have them back?" He tried to keep his voice as bland and emotionless as possible, because he didn't want to beg Alexander Pierce for anything. That was a waste of effort and only exposed exploitable weakness. 

"Now, now. Are you still clinging to the sad, sad idea that anything really belongs to you? You don't even belong to yourself, Commander. You are property of HYDRA until the day you die and we find a use for your body." Pierce folded his elegant hands and leaned back in his chair. The photos were still on the desk, Brock knew he had an opening. A chance.  

"What if she wants to look at them with me again, Sir?" Rumlow tilted his head. "I should pretend that I have a sentimental attachment to them and therefore to  _her._ That's what she'd expect, Sir."

Pierce looked up at the ceiling, then smiled. "There now. That's what you should be thinking about Commander. Really sell it." Pierce slid the stack of photos to Rumlow. "You've got a talent for this." Brock didn't acknowledge the offhand compliment.  

He pocketed the photos, carefully avoiding bending the plastic. When they were safely on his person, he dare to ask, "You've already made copies, haven't you, Sir?" 

Pierce nodded. "Of course. And redundant backups. You may go now."

Brock stood up and walked to the exit, before he pressed the button, Pierce said, "And Commander?" 

Brock turned on his heel. "Yes?" 

Pierce wasn't looking at him any more, he tapped on his tablet. "Red really isn't your color. Try a berry shade next time. It will really bring out the color of your eyes.  _Dismissed_."  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are SUCH a dick Pierce.


	7. Chapter 7

She hadn't called him. She hadn't texted him. It had been over two weeks. 

Sure, she was busy. That was all it was. Brock rubbed his forehead. They weren't dating. This wasn't a  _thing._ Staring at his phone wasn't going to make a message suddenly pop up. Neither was throwing the thing against the bulkhead, Brock tucked his phone back in his pocket. 

What had he done wrong? She told him that he was  _perfect_ , that he was  _beautiful_. And now... fucking radio silence. He leaned his head back against the bulkhead, the vibrations of the rotors buzzed through his gritted teeth. Did she know? Did she know that he was HYDRA? No, that was stupid. He wouldn't be breathing right now and neither would his whole team.  _  
_

He looked over at Rollins. His second was snoring, passed out on Murphy's grumpy, resigned shoulder. Westfahl was listening to that horrible bubble-gum pop music, tapping his toes and fingers at the same time. Mercer sat quietly on her seat and stared right back at him, until his eyes watered from the impromptu staring contest. He blinked and she smiled, then closed her eyes to nap. These were his people. He had to keep them safe. Sure, they knew what they signed up for, but they also trusted him. 

Fuck Maria Hill. He didn't need her. 

But Pierce was going to be pissed. So pissed. 

Brock had the sudden horrifying thought of himself sitting on the floor beside Pierce's desk like a dog. "Fuck." He cursed under his breath. He couldn't screw this up. He couldn't fail. His gorge heaved and he blamed it on motion sickness, not that thought. Would it be better than dying? Being alive as a toy? A semi-useful plaything? 

After the transport landed and his team hoisted their gear, they walked to the barracks. Rollins argued with Murphy about sleep apnea. Westfahl sang loudly along with the girls on his earphones, " _I'll tell you what I want, what I really_ _really want_!" as he danced down the exit ramp. And Mercer hung back, waiting for her CO who was staring at his phone again. 

"So. Are you going to talk about it or are you going to break your phone?" Mercer asked him. 

"There's nothing to talk about." He sighed. What the hell, she was probably his tail. And she hadn't breathed a word of what she'd witnessed him doing. She hadn't rubbed his nose in it like Pierce did. He wouldn't call her a  _good_ person, no one who enjoyed head shots as much as she did would qualify as a  _good_ person, but she was alright. Handy as hell to have in a firefight and she knew how be discreet obviously. "Hill hasn't called me." 

She nodded her head. "Have you texted her?" 

"No." Why risk the chance of rejection? "She... makes the rules." 

"That's stupid. Text her. She's probably thinking that you're pissed at her or something. Men. You just turn into complete meatheads." Mercer shifted her gear on her shoulders. "Grow some balls, Brock."

Brock frowned at her. "I've got plenty of balls, thanks. But, I-- I don't know."

"Gimme." Mercer grabbed the cell out of Rumlow's hands and tapped out a message. She smiled with great satisfaction and slapped the phone back on Brock's chest. " _There_. You can thank me later."

"What the fucking hell did you just do!?" Brock gasped, his mouth wide with horror. 

"I've got a set of brass ones big enough for both of us." The little bitch had shut off the phone so he couldn't do anything like cancel the text or send an abject groveling apology. Mercer trotted off to catch up to the others, "You bastards lost the bet. No! He hadn't texted her! Can you believe it? Fifty bucks! Each of you!" The guys groaned. 

 _"_ Come on, come on, hurry up!" Brock muttered at the phone as he waited for it to reboot. It was silly, Hill wouldn't have responded so soon. Not after this long. 

_One New Message._ _From Maria Hill: My place. 9pm. Further instruction to come later._

_Fucking hell_. Brock looked up with astonishment plastered on his face.

Mercer waved a small wad of cash, grinned at him and hooted in triumph, "I told you! Baaaalls!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one before the serious smut happens.


	8. Chapter 8

The rest of Hill's instructions made Brock do a double take at the screen and kick back on his couch. _Huh_. _Clothes I don't care about and a list of supplies..._

Was he up for this? He'd thought about taking it up the ass a few times, but he had been very, very drunk at the time. The thought of Maria holding him down and fucking him, well, the bulge in his pants was evidence enough. He was into the idea. And making him buy the supplies and do the prep ahead of time was just good planning. Brock appreciated good planning, it meant that she was thinking about him. He snorted to himself, it was probably also her way of making sure he wouldn't chicken out. 

"What the hell, you only live once." Brock muttered, adjusted his cock and got off the couch. 

The drug store was pretty empty, Brock grabbed a basket from the floor and sauntered into the aisles like he owned the place. He checked the list carefully, he wanted to get back home soon. Finally, his basket of questionable supplies was complete and he walked back to the register. 

The snot-nosed cashier rang up the water-based lube, non-latex gloves, double-pack of enemas, condoms and half-priced holiday candy. Brock swiped his card, grateful for the silence. "Any plans for the evening?" The clerk pointedly asked, stuffing the loot into a plastic bag. 

"Well, not until after I stop by the home improvement place. You guys don't carry the big stuff like quicklime, hacksaws and tarps. And your duct tape is way overpriced. Charging an arm and a leg, buddy." Brock winked at the clerk who nearly swallowed his tongue. "Oh, just kidding. I don't do that shit myself. I call in the professionals. You have a real nice day now." He strode off, whistling while the clerk tried to figure out if he was serious or not.

In his car, he squinted at the instructions on the back of the enema box and contemplated his lot in life. The things he did to get laid. 

\--

Brock rang the buzzer to Maria's apartment, he made sure not to jostle the delicate purple potted orchids in his arms. Thank god that florist was still open, by the time he finished up all his _butt stuff_ he had almost missed the deadline. Maria opened the door and Brock grinned at her through the floral arraignment. "Hi. I heard you liked orchids." 

Maria crossed her arms, she was wearing her SHIELD uniform. That wasn't necessarily a good sign. Brock glanced down and saw that she was also wearing his favorite boots. Now that  _was_ a good sign. "What I like are good boys who can follow orders. Are you all... prepped?" 

Brock couldn't help it, he whistled low. "Clean as a whistle, Agent. We aren't going to play cavity search, I hope?" He lifted his elbow to show her the plastic sack full of supplies. 

"I hadn't decided yet," Maria shrugged, "You can always use your safe word. What is it again?" 

" _Butterscotch_." Brock breathed out the word like a prayer. Maria reached over and pulled him inside by his shirt sleeve. She shut the door behind him and looked him up and down. 

When she finally spoke, her tone was curt. "I was worried about you. You didn't call." 

"You didn't either! I-- I thought you would." Brock tried to hide behind the flowers in his arms. "Did I fuck things up? I do that a lot."  

Maria took the orchids from him and put the flowers on her table. She touched the petals and smiled, then looked over her shoulder at him. "Ah, so we did that old routine of stupid assumptions. I thought you were all weirded out, that I pushed you too hard. So, I was giving you your space." She leaned against the table and stretched out her long legs, the boots shined and slick.

Brock licked his lips unconsciously. "Huh. Meathead."

"I beg your pardon?" Maria raised an eyebrow. 

Brock mashed his face with his hand and shook his head. "A friend told me that I was acting like a meathead. I-- I don't want to fuck this up, Maria." Their sessions made him feel drained and delighted at the same time. This couldn't be good for him, it was one thing to be revolting against a corrupt government agency, but deceiving her? She was too good for him. Too perfect. He needed to be punished for his sins, especially the ones he couldn't tell anyone else about. He put the plastic bag of supplies on the table and spread his hands. "Show me that I didn't fuck this up." 

She planted her finger in the center of his chest. "You listen to me, sweetheart. You do what I say and I'll make you feel so goddamn good. You fight me? I'll take you down and play with you anyway. So how's it going to go down tonight, lovely boy? Are you going to be good? Or you going to _hurt_?"  

_Thank god._

Brock huffed out an abrupt _pfft_ sound. He looked her straight in the eyes and widened his stance. He squared his shoulders and grinned sassily. "I've followed way too many orders today. If you want my sweet ass, you'll have to take it, Hill." 

She shook her head and lashed out faster than his eyes could track. He managed to shake her hold and laughed. That was a mistake, that indulgence opened him up to a rapid fire gut punch that left him wheezing and on all fours on the carpet. _Oh yeah, that was stupid_. But it felt so very good. She wrenched his arms back behind his back and secured them with  _fuzzy pink cuffs._  If he could have caught his breath, he would have laughed until he cried. 

"You had to be difficult." She kicked his legs apart and he felt the cold trail of scissor blades up the flesh of his leg. She was cutting off his pants. She made neat work of his jeans and shorts, flaying the fabric from his body. He sprawled on top of his clothing, totally nude and exposed after she cut his t-shirt away. "Stubborn thing."

He finally caught his breath and gasped out, "You've read my file, _you_ should have known better." 

"There are penalties for insubordination, you know that." Hill knelt beside him, displaying a duffle bag. She reached inside and pulled out a black paddle. She tested it against her own leg, the leather made a satisfying  _thwap_  sound against her leg. She aimed and cracked the paddle against the back of his thigh. He yowled in pain. 

"What the fuck? You missed!" He hissed out, "Fucking hell!" His hand clenched and he tried to escape from the cuffs. The stupid pink things held him securely. His cock stirred beneath him and he bit his lip. _He wasn't going to get hard from this, he wasn't_ , he lied to himself. 

"Nope, hurts more here." She mirrored her first stroke and Brock felt the stinging heat spread over his other thigh. "I've got other plans for your ass." She grabbed a great handful of asscheek and squeezed. Brock heard her chuckle, low under her breath, then the snap of gloves. 

 _This was really happening._ He tried to steady his breathing as she stroked lubed fingers up and down his crack. "Now, do you want to rethink your earlier rebellion?" She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back, "Tell me. Tell me that you want this." 

Brock squeezed his eyes shut as she circled his tight hole with light fingertips, making him shiver with anticipation. "Yes." He whispered, unable to force more words out. 

"Not good enough."  _Oh god. She was inside him_. "I need to hear more. Come on sweet thing, you're clenched so pretty on my fingers. You're going to look so good split open on my cock." Her fingers twisted and probed, ruthlessly reaming, while her other hand pulled at his hair. 

"P--please. I- need it." His eyes were still tightly shut, the muscles of his neck taut. 

"Need what?" She paused, a trickle of cold lube drizzled down his crack. "I didn't quite hear you." 

"Need-- your cock inside me..." Brock choked out. "Need it!" And he did, he needed this more than anything he'd ever felt before. Her wicked fingers just weren't enough, even as they danced tantalizingly over his prostate. He panted and a whine escaped his throat that was more animal than human. 

"Good boy." She let go of his hair and he slumped back to the floor. She took off the gloves. "Ass up." She commanded with an open palmed slap. He canted up his hips and got his knees beneath him. He heard more rustling, it felt like an eternity with his swollen cock dangling in air and his stretched out asshole exposed. He looked over at the window and knew that someone was watching him, they were going to watch him get fucked like a slut, it was what he deserved. 

Then she stood in front of him, a vision in her shiny boots and uniform with a black silicone cock jutting out from the harness at her pelvis. She put her boot toe in front of his face and he didn't hesitate to kiss it. "Very good. Don't you look like a proper young man. All scars, muscles and sin. Do you like your pink cuffs? You seemed so fond of the idea the first time we properly sparred." 

"Yes. I do like them." Brock said with his face still on the carpet, grateful to hide the heat in his cheeks. 

"Don't I give you the nicest gifts? You're too pretty, my sweet thing. Now, get on your knees and face me." Brock wrestled himself into place, it wasn't easy with his arms bound behind him and his ass dripping wetness. "Now, suck my cock, lovely." 

Brock furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth, hesitantly. He tried to remember what it felt like to have his own cock sucked, but it wasn't like she could feel it. He flushed even redder at the knowledge that someone else was watching him suck that dildo.

"Oh put a little enthusiasm into it," Maria tilted her hips and Brock's mouth was full of silicone dick, he looked up at her. She was frowning. Brock was chagrined. He closed his eyes and dragged his lips up and down the shaft, rolling his tongue about the head. He pretended that it was a real cock between his lips and that made him suck even harder to his shame. His lips were swollen pink with effort and tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, when Maria ran her fingers through his hair and cooed, "That's my good boy. Now, I'm taking off the cuffs, you've earned it."

Brock worked feeling back into his numb fingers and Hill ran her nails down his flank. "On your back, Brock." He lay back and she tucked a rolled up towel under his hips. He covered his face with his arm and she slapped at his leg. "I want to see your face." Of course, she did. She ran her hands up and down his body as she knelt between his legs, "Such a beautiful boy, I want to see you _wrecked_." Brock felt the head of the saliva slicked dildo press against his hole. 

"Do you trust me?" Hill asked, pressing so slow it drove him crazy, all the nerves in his body felt alight. 

"Yes!" Brock clutched at the carpet, "Please, just do it!" 

"Do what?" She stroked the hair on the base of his belly, content and infinitely patient. "What do you want me to do?"

"Take me! Just-- fuck me please!" He begged, his voice raspy and raw from bouncing the dildo against the back of his throat. "I can't bear it!" She pressed in past his taut slippery ring and Brock was full, his eyes wide and he gasped at the intrusion. 

"Well, you asked so nicely." Hill smirked and started to churn her hips, moving the cock inside him. "I'm not counting on getting any more pretty words out of you for a while." Brock was speechless at the sensations moving through him, his mouth fell open, slack. She did  _something_ with her hips and Brock saw stars behind his eyelids, he keened with surprise. "I like it when you fall apart, pretty boy." Brock had no words to answer her, only gasps. 

"Touch yourself," Hill commanded, spots of color high on her cheeks, "Go on. I should get the camera and take a picture of your asshole stretched around my cock. You look so good stuffed full of dick. I bet a few of your men wish that it was their cocks up your ass right now. But you're mine right now. All mine." She grinned and braced herself on his knees. "My slutty boy, let me hear you moan. That's it."  

Brock wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked himself, "I'm gonna come..." he pleaded. 

"If you come now, I'll make you eat it." Hill stated and pounded harder at his ass. 

Just the thought of that pushed Brock over the edge and he spurted upon his belly in rivulets of thick white semen. Hill shook her head and scooped up two fingers full of his cum then smeared it on his lips while his asshole clenched on her silicone cock. He licked his lips and sucked on her fingers until they were clean. She pulled out of him slowly, gently and unfastened the harness.

She sat on the couch and patted her lap, Brock dragged himself over to her and put his head in her lap. She petted his sweaty hair, "That was so good. See how good you feel when you submit? When you stop fighting? You're such a good boy." She kept saying that, praising him, telling him that he was something special. She knew nothing. Nothing about him.

"I bet you say that to all the guys you fuck up the ass." Brock sighed. Maria's expression darkened and she stood up. Brock laid his head on the couch cushion, confident that he'd fucked things up again. He heard the refrigerator open and shut. She sat back down with a bowl and spoon in her hands.

"Open." She commanded and Brock obeyed, a spoonful of butterscotch pudding melted on his tongue. He swallowed and felt tears trailing down his cheeks. "Open." She fed him the whole bowl, spoonful by spoonful then licked the spoon herself.

" _Butterscotch."_ Brock muttered. 

"Are you telling me the flavor or using your safeword, Brock?" Maria asked then she cupped her hand against his cheek.

"I don't know." Brock wrapped his arms around his knees and hid his face from her. "I don't know." He began to sob and Maria got down on the floor with him, pulled him into her arms and stroked his skin.

"Shhh. It will be fine. You did so well. Shhh..." She reassured him, but her words rang hollow in his ears. He was weak. She knew nothing about him, she was too good, too perfect. He would fuck it all up.

He always did.  

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Maria wouldn't let him leave until she was sure he was okay. That's how he ended up in her bed. She was still in her uniform, her hair soft and loose around her sleeping face. Her hand was on his chest and he couldn't stop looking at her. She was perfect. Her lips parted and he ached to kiss them, but he just watched her breathe instead, tried to capture the moment in his mind for ever. When she opened her sleepy eyes and smiled at him, his heart dropped into his stomach.

This wasn't just a mission, this wasn't just playing around or getting his rocks off. This was fucking  _dangerous_. She was the enemy and he could barely remember that. He was HYDRA, she was not. There was no room for her in his life, not after what he'd done. He'd worked so hard to get where he was and he was on the  _right_ side. He believed that, he had to. 

There was no way they could be together. She was smart and he wasn't the best liar. He'd fuck up and she'd shoot him right between the eyes, as much for the lying as the treason. And once HYDRA took over, she'd be first on the list for removal, Fury's right hand. And he didn't want to hurt her, he didn't. He wasn't a  _monster._

"Want something to eat? Some eggs?" She murmured and caressed his face. He pulled back at her touch with a jerk and a flinch. "What's wrong?" _You. You're all wrong for me. And I don't want anything more than you right now. And I can't._

"I can't." The words tumbled out. "I can't do this." Brock got out of her bed, not thinking about how her sheets smelled, the warmth of her body next to him. "I-- I've met someone..." He can't look at her. "She's pretty great and I-- I can't do this to her." 

Maria sat up on the bed, "Brock, you should have said something." He pulled on his spare clothes, his shirt inside out and backwards. The understanding in her voice gutted him. "We can still be friends, you know?" 

He rushed out into the living room. It's not working. He couldn't be friends with her. He couldn't smell her scent, listen to her laugh and not crave the rest of it. He was greedy like that. He looked at the huge window and knew that he was being watched. She'd never be safe with him around. She'd never have a moment with him that was not carefully recorded, curated and violated.

He turned on his heel and with his back to the window said, "You just don't get it, do you? You're so stupid." He sneered as she walked towards him, confused hurt etched upon her lovely face. "I don't want _you_. I don't want a fucking Amazon beating me up and fucking me with her fake cock! I want a normal girl, not some bitch that only gets off on hurting people! You don't even kiss me, you freak."

Her hurt darkened into something more malevolent and Brock took a step back. He steeled himself for the inevitable beating that he deserved. _Hurt me. Break me. It's my fault, I deserve it._ "I don't want to be friends with you, I don't even want to look at you anymore. You bring out everything in me that I fucking hate." A little bit of truth there. 

"Get _out_." Maria said, her jaw set with steely resolve, "I'll never touch you again. _Coward_." Brock scrambled toward the door, he shut it behind him and heard a crash against the other side of it.  _The orchids._  He panted and prayed that the watcher had seen everything and that she was now safe.

How could his heart beat so fast when it was broken? 

\--

Alexander Pierce called him into his office, Brock sat in the metal folding chair in front of his desk and awaited his fate. He'd put his affairs in order a long time ago. He could at least die without being a pussy. "Commander. I hear that you are no longer seeing Agent Hill." No shit. 

"I am not, sir." Pierce waited for more information that Brock did not supply. He wasn't going to make this easy. 

"What happened?" Pierce tapped his fingers on the desktop in a rapid tattoo. 

"She broke up with me." 

Pierce raised an eyebrow. " _Really_? It seemed like everything was going so well. What happened? Did she not enjoy popping your cherry?" Brock flinched. Of course, Pierce would know that. Didn't make it feel any better. "Were you a bad lay? No, I doubt that."

"I wasn't what she wanted." Keep it short, keep it sweet, keep your brains in your skull. 

"That's a pity." Pierce stood up. "You know what we do with failed missions, don't you Commander?" He walked over to Brock and leaned over, whispered in his ear. "We can't have failure polluting the good that we can do here. So we need to rip it out at the roots, burn the fields and salt the earth so it never happens again." Brock didn't flinch. He was already dead inside, Pierce couldn't do anything worse to him. He'd found his bliss and beat it to a pulp, then pissed on the remains. 

"Did you say goodbye to your team?" Brock's eyebrows furrowed. "It's going to be hard finding replacements for them, but you've been so close to them that they're tainted by your failure." Pierce's lips were so close to his ear that he could feel the heat of his breath on his skin. "What do you say to that, Commander?" 

Brock proclaimed, "Hail HYDRA." He had nothing left except his belief that he was doing the right thing. The greater good. He wasn't a monster, he was a hero. The team knew what they signed up for, they believed. They were heroes too. They could be martyrs as well.

Pierce straightened up and smiled, "Good answer." He clapped Brock on the shoulder like a dear friend. "I'm not going to execute your team. What a waste that would be." Pierce leaned up against his desk and said casually, "Eh,  _women._ Who knows what they want? Really, they're completely impossible and I was married for twenty years. Still can't figure out what she was talking about half the time." Pierce looked him up and down like a prize animal at a county fair. 

"Now a loyal man, that's what I'm looking for. And you, Brock Rumlow, have shown yourself to be so loyal. You've literally taken it up the ass in service of HYDRA." Pierce smirked at his cleverness, "I've got big things planned for you. In fact, have you ever heard of the Asset program?" Brock nodded. He wasn't supposed to know about that program, but whenever the Asset was deployed they fucking decimated the opposition. All that power. "I'm looking for a new handler. Someone that I can trust with the Fist of HYDRA, someone who can't be swayed by a pretty face and cheap thrills. What do you say Brock, do you think you can be that man?" Pierce looked at him expectantly. 

"Yes, sir!" Brock barked out his response. A promotion? His brains weren't splattered on the office walls, his team was safe... Brock dared to hope. 

Pierce leaned over and looked Brock in the eyes, Brock felt like he was having a staring contest with a cobra. "Now, you do have exceptional talents, I've seen the picture, the videos..." Brock swallowed as Pierce clasped his hand around Brock's throat. Pierce rubbed his other thumb over Brock's bottom lip in a vulgar intimacy that should have made Brock's stomach clench in revulsion, but instead made turgid heat pool low in his belly. "Do you think you could submit to HYDRA?" Pierce asked him, as if he had any choice at all in the matter. 

"Sir... yes, sir." 

"Good. Good." Pierce lightly slapped the side of Brock's face with a self-satisfied smirk. "My place. 8 pm. Full gear please. I like the dichotomy of a heavily-armed man who knows how to submit to his betters. Go meet up with the tech team, they're about to defrost the Asset out of cryo. You're dismissed, Commander."

Brock saluted, stood up and walked in a daze to the closest toilet. He locked the door behind him and retched until his stomach ached. He stared at his sidearm for a while, but settled for punching the wall instead. He was alive. He stared at his face in the mirror until the tears stopped flowing. Stupid asshole. Stupid fucking asshole. This was what he deserved. It was what he was made for. He was broken and needed to be put back together. If anyone could do it, Pierce could. And he wouldn't be stupid again, he wouldn't fall in love. There was no room for love and weakness in HYDRA. 

He wouldn't fuck up again. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No happy endings for HYDRA. Even Brock knows that. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I hope you forgive me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Prop Up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060685) by [AstaianNymph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstaianNymph/pseuds/AstaianNymph)




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